The Refrain
a new poem
The Refrain
Beneath morning’s gray, lopsided
ceiling, I grip the air for balance.
Air like glass in fragments—
the frigid drizzle. Walking,
I hold a prayer in mind, not
repeating, but breathing
each word anew.
I pass the lawn
with the dead sunflowers
(their black, caved-in faces)
and tomatoes heavy with rot—
vines sagging toward the sidewalk.
Chalk drawings faded by rain:
mangled stick men
and slogans smeared illegible.
Like the mind without prayer.
Like the mind without prayer
to resolve the shattered sound
of the animal I am.
Subscribe to Dispatches From the Basement
By Joseph Massey · Hundreds of paid subscribers
I offer poetry that seeks out the sacred in the ordinary, accompanied by original photography. No politics, no hot takes, just poetry.
You nailed “rainy day introspection” and “cold weather contemplation” with this one. Well done.
mannnn, I really like how this poem captures my current mood.